3.
In the fort at Alcolea
Merriment and noise have ceased now
Knights and ladies all have vanish’d,
And the lights are all extinguish’d.
Donna Clara and Almansor
In the hall above still linger,
And one single lamp is throwing
On them both its feeble lustre.
On the seat the lady’s sitting,
And the knight upon the footstool,
And his head, by sleep o’erpower’d,
On her darling knees is resting.
From a golden flask some rose-oil
Pours the lady, sadly musing,
On Almansor’s dark-brown tresses,—
From his inmost bosom sighs he.
With her soft lips then the lady
Gives a sweet kiss, sadly musing,
On Almansor’s dark-brown tresses,—
And his brow is clouded over.
From her light eyes tears in torrents
Weeps the lady, sadly musing,
On Almansor’s dark-brown tresses,—
And his lips begin to quiver.
And he dreams he’s once more standing
With his head bent down and weeping
In fair Cordova’s cathedral,
Many gloomy voices hearing.
All the lofty giant-columns
Hears he murmuring full of anger,—
That no longer will they bear it,
And they totter and they tremble.
And they wildly fall together,
Pale turn all the priests and people,
Crashing falls the dome upon them,
And the Christian gods wail loudly.